With Schemes Like That
by ktwills1277
Summary: A new girl arrives a little early at Anubis House, and she gets to know someone else who has to spend his summer holidays at school.  Jerome/OC.  M for later chapters, specifically chapters 4 and 9, if you want to skip ahead.  Reviews would be nice.
1. Chapter 1

Hi there internet. I'm new, and this is my first time, so please be gentle.

Also, I only own the parts I've come up with (obviously), so all the rest goes to nickelodeon or whomever.

Trudy led me into the laundry room. A cot had been pushed up against the wall and the churning clothes gave me some insight into what would be replacing my white-noise machine that night. She really seemed like the nicest lady. All the other schools I'd been to in the past few years had been full of some truly sucktastic people. She left me to settle in. But, a backpack full of books and toiletries doesn't take long to unpack.

Trying not to think too hard over my situation, I slipped down the hall to the bathroom to brush my teeth – it had been a long flight. I pulled my chestnut hair into a ponytail, my bangs sweeping out of my grasp and back across my forehead, and splashed some water on my face, rubbing my blue-green eyes. I was totally going to be fine. Unfortunately, I've always been able to tell when I was lying.

The house was quiet. No one was supposed to be coming back from summer holiday until next week sometime, so I had been early. As it happened, my parents were going on dig in Egypt, and needed to dump me somewhere after I'd been kicked out of my last school. Plus, Mr. Sweets was an old friend of the family, so room had been made.

I was desperate for something with which to amuse myself – and it turned out that old houses have a pretty choice selection of old books. So, I set myself down on one of the shiny, leather couches and got to reading.

It had been, I want to say twenty minutes (but I often loose track of time), when someone passed through the living room into the kitchen. I just kind of spotted a blur in my periphery and decided it was probably Trudy and that she was considerate enough not to interrupt me.

I was wrong.

A blonde boy approached and sat on the couch adjacent to mine. I glanced up to survey the new arrival – he was tall, a little lanky, his face was sort of pinched (not in a way that was particularly unattractive, but it wasn't particularly attractive, either), and his hair was far too poofy. I went back to my book.

The boy surveyed me as well – I could feel his eyes on me (not in a weird way, mind you, but it was just a little distracting). He sipped on his soda every four seconds and once he waited six, but then went back to his four second interval.

I could wait.

It was probably around ten minutes (but again, I'm not the best judge of time), when he finally gave up.

"So," he began, and I think he sounded mildly amused, which bothered me, "new?"

"Nope," I started, turning the page dramatically even though I still had a paragraph left, "I've been here for years. You just haven't noticed me."

"Really?" I guess he was the playful type. "What's my name, then?"

"I certainly hope you don't need me to help you figure that one out. Besides, what makes you think I would've taken notice of you?"

"Oh, I dunno. Perhaps it's my devilish good looks or my winning personality."

I smiled and shook my head, never taking my eyes off the page.

Some moments passed in silence. He seemed to think that we were taking turns commenting and that I had not responded appropriately in my lack of response.

"I'm Jerome," I could tell he was smiling, even without looking at him, and he added, "just, by the way."

"Jules."

"What brings you here, Jules?" I narrowed my eyes picturing him raising his eyebrows in mock interest.

"Taxi."

"That _is_ a solid means of conveyance."

There was another silence and I was just kind of hoping he would go away.

"So, um," his persistence was almost as endearing as it was irritating, "why so early?" Almost.

I sighed. He had been nice, I suppose.

"My parents went on dig in Egypt, and they needed somewhere to put me." I guess he'd earned the truth.

"Ah," he made it sound as if he understood.

I was thus prompted to look up from my book and take my turn in raising an eyebrow in mock interest.

"Bahamas." His answer was concise. I could respect that. "Not so exciting as Egypt, but still pretty great."

Silence again.

"Why the change in schools?" Normal question, I guess, but it still took me a little by surprise.

My eyes narrowed and my lips pursed and I imagine that was not the reaction he was expecting, but I couldn't really help feeling like he'd heard about all my expulsions and had thus prematurely dubbed me the trouble-making ne'er-do-well.

"Ooh, sor-ry," he said, raising his palms to face me as if the underside of hands is naturally what clams people down, "Touchy." His eyes were wide and he was biting down a smile, which, and I hate to admit this, made me smile back a little – just a little.

"Am not." I laughed a bit at myself, "I just thought you were asking because you'd already heard and judged me."  
"No, I haven't," then he added with a little more excitement, "but I totally will. What'd you do?"

I bit my lip in fake innocence. "I might have replaced my fat-ass teacher's podium with a look-alike made of wrapping paper and plastic straws, which collapsed as soon as he leaned on it." I couldn't really look at him as I said this. I series of like-spirited pranks had gotten me out of a number of schools, even though they were totally harmless, except when the one broke his arm.

He looked a little shocked, and then he was laughing. Positive reaction. I took a deep breath and allowed myself to laugh with him. I guess he looked kind of nice when he was laughing.

"That's brilliant," he remarked through convulsions.

"It wouldn't've gotten me thrown out if it hadn't been for my melting his car tires with acid from the chem-lab. Oh, he was so awful, though. All he did was talk about his students who had gone on to do great things while he hung around high-schools because molding minds was 'what he loved to do'. But, that's not really all he _loved _to do, if you know what I mean." This broke Jerome out of his laughter and he seemed to be exhibiting signs of legitimate concern.

"Did," he began, but I cut him off.

"No, no," I smiled. It was weird feeling like he was actually interested. "A friend. Nothing happened, really. He _is _a fat-ass, and she was able to run away."

It was silent again after that, but not the same kind of silent – not quite so comfortable.

"Anyway," I began hastily, trying to shove the silence out, "my parents are friends with Sweetie, so I live here now."

"Well, with schemes like that, you should get on fine."


	2. Chapter 2

"So, Jerome I'm afraid I've been thinking," I began as I rolled an apple between my palms.

He was leaning against the countertop, and looked up at me, his eyes shining.

"That's a dangerous way to be spending your time." He smiled. I suppose I like it when he smiles.

"It's for a good cause, I think." I smiled too.

"Go on, then."

"Okay, so I was thinking that this house is old and creepy, right?"

"Right."

"So, wouldn't it only make sense for it to be haunted?"

He was silent, eyeing me skeptically.

"Well," I took a bite from my apple before I elaborated, "how hard could it be, really, to convince my soon to be new friends that ghosts are ambling about?"

He smiled. He had a nice smile.

"How, exactly, do you plan to convince them of this?"

"You mean: how do we plan to convince them of this?"

"Of course." He smiled wider.

"Well, bear in mind that the plan isn't totally fleshed out quite yet," I could tell I was smirking.

"Oh, tell me, tell me," he sort of skipped over to my side of the counter.

I bit down on my smile.

"Well, I was thinking maybe we could do something with ectoplasmic goop. Probably something along the lines of lime jell-o. Maybe, we can keep me hidden from meeting them for the first day and I could come out at night in crazy make-up and freak 'em out."

He just kind of looked at me.

"So," I continued, feeling a bit awkward now, "I guess a finalized plan would be more something like: I stay in my room when everyone's arriving, then I'll sneak out at night and cover one of the kids in lime jell-o, and make some moaning noises, and then spout something about being a harbinger of destruction, then, um, yeah."

"How are you at moaning noises?"

"Better than you'd think."

He was smiling and I was smiling and I think I might've been blushing a little bit, too.

"Anyway," he started, "What is my role in all this?"

"Ah, yes," I bit my lip, feeling a little bad that he might be feeling left out, "_You_ will be planting thoughts of hauntings in all their little heads, _and_," I added because he seemed let down by so little a role, "I will be _needing_" I thought he might appreciate that I stressed that word a little more, "you to help me siphon lime jell-o from Trudy's stores in the fridge."

"Hmm," he was still unsatisfied, "how about, I hide under the bed and shake it. Just so I can enjoy the big reveal."

"I guess that could work. Sure."

He then proceeded to empty the fridge of lime jell-o.

"Whoa whoa whoa," I started, grabbing the jell-o from his arms and putting it back in the fridge, "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think _you're_ doing?" He was glaring at the jell-o cartons, and snatching them back from me.

"You can't take it all at once," he really should know that much, "or she'll to suspect something. Come on, you should know better."

"Trudy's not going to notice missing jell-o."

"And what if she does?"

"She won't." Well, wasn't he awfully sure of himself?

"Well, aren't you awfully sure of yourself?"

"I am." He paused. "That's good, right?"

I laughed.

"I suppose."

I'm not entirely sure what happened next, but the air got kind of still and he was really close to me. Granted, I'd only known him for a few days, but he was nice and he was sweet and he was cute.

He tucked his head down so he was just an inch away.

"So, um," I turned my head away, "I think I'm going to, um." I pointed to the door and slid out from under him and back to my room.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm not entirely sure what prompted me to run away like that. I mean, he _is _really great, and usually great is a good thing. I guess I was just thinking that I didn't know him well enough, or that it was moving too fast, or something else silly that doesn't make any sense.

Anyway, he didn't follow me, which I appreciated. I require a lot of time alone with my thoughts in order to stay sane. I also appreciated that the next time we bumped into each other, he acted as if nothing had happened. That was _exactly_ what I needed.

We were able to plan our prank in a bit more detail over the next day or two, and there were only a few moments, when neither of us had some wonderful idea to share, that the air got all still again and I was struck by a sudden urge to use the bathroom, or get a snack, or brush my hair, in my room, alone.

The day finally arrived. I was allowed to roam freely until lunchtime, which was when the other students started to appear. I could hear them from the laundry room. My target, Patricia, had a terribly abrasive voice, and I could tell that tonight was going to be a lot of fun. I heard lots of laughing and joking and overall bonding. I supposed it would be nice to be there the next day and meet everyone.

Jerome slipped me some dinner after everyone else had gone to the living room to reminisce or watch a movie or whatever. It was the first time he'd been in the laundry room after its modification into my living space. I found it was a bit cramped, but he didn't seem to mind.

He set my dinner on the washer beside where I was sitting atop the dryer. Although there were other, more suitable, places to stand, he chose to stand right in front of me, his hands on my knees, supporting his weight. Now, he claims that his hands slipped, but I think I know better. As it was, my legs were spread and he sauntered between them like he owned the place. His fingertips danced lightly over my now hot skin, up my thighs from my knees.

Thinking quickly, I scooped up some mashed potatoes from the plate next to me and smeared it on his face.

I have no idea why I kept doing this to myself and to him, but it just sort of happened – like a gut reaction, I guess.

He closed his eyes and I pretended not to see the disappointment before he composed himself and started stretching his tongue to lick all of the potato off his face. He looked really silly. I couldn't really help but laugh, and I think he was laughing too.


	4. Chapter 4

The night was finally come. Jerome and I crept up the staircase, arms laden with containers of lime jell-o, and I nudged the door to Patricia's room open. We set to work quickly. Jerome was in charge of opening, and I was in charge of spreading – I had to be really gentle, though, because there was always the chance that she would wake up.

Patricia had been effectively coated in a thin layer of lime jell-o, and the empty cartons stacked neatly and placed very quietly in the waste bin. I motioned to Jerome to get under the bed. I silently closed the blinds so that no moonlight would ruin my effects or interfere with my escape. The door was open enough for the two of us to slip out, and the light in the hall was off. The stage, therefore, was set.

I took a deep breath, pointed the torch to light my face from below, and switched it on. The change in light didn't wake her up, so I tried a moaning noise, but all that did was garner a snickering from under the bed. Jerome promptly shook the bed, forcing his hands upwards through the mattress to finally awaken our heavy-sleeping prey.

"Patricia," I tried to say this in one of those creepy children's voices, so it came out really sweet and ethereal.

"Patricia," I repeated. She had sat up in her bed drowsily. But then, her eyes were huge, and I don't think she was breathing.

"Why are you doing this to me, Patricia? Why do you hate me?" My heart was beating so fast. There is no feeling I can think of to compare with the thrill of knowing that you are about to scare someone shitless.

Patricia said something that sounded like a cross between a gurgle and a squeak.

"I only wanted to be your friend. You said we'd be friends forever."

Her lower jaw was shaking – a scream was coming, so I had to finish quick.

"But, then you hurt me. Why did you hurt me," I let my voice get sadder, then angrier (punctuated by a well-timed bed shake), "Why do you have to stay here? Why do you have to stay here and hurt me?" My hands were shaking from all the adrenaline, but I think the shifting light added to the effect.

Then, the scream came.

I switched off the torch, and slipped through the door, Jerome scrambling to catch up to me. I didn't look back, but I could feel him behind me. I didn't stop until I was safe, back in my laundry. Jerome had followed me here, too.

He shut the door, and as he turned back to face me, I clenched his head in my hands, twisting my fingers into his hair and forcing his lips to mine. It didn't take him long to catch up. His arms were around my waist, clutching me to him, and then his hands were at the hem of my t-shirt. His fingertips grazed my hips and I let go of his head so that I could slip out of the shirt quicker. He was progressing far too slowly for my liking.

My hands were back on him in an instant. I eased down his pajama bottoms while he pulled his shirt off. His chest was warm and I pressed my hands against it as I kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip a bit before he tucked his head into the crook of my neck and began a trail of kisses that led between my breasts to the waistline of my sleep shorts. His hands were at the small of my back and he was gently leading us towards the cot.

He laid me down on the old, almost-mattress, and slid his hands to the top of my shorts and then they were gone. He forged a trail of kisses from my ankles back up to the inside of my thigh before slipping my underwear down my legs and then those were gone too. He kissed my stomach as he slid one finger into me – my breath caught in my throat, and when he added a second one, it broke free in a low moan. His thumb was rubbing that little bundle of nerve endings in consistent, tight circles, and I noticed that my hips had decided to move with his fingers, forcing them in a little bit deeper each time. He kissed my breasts, taking one nipple gently in his mouth, and licking the tip, while his free hand massaged the other (I like to think average-sized) breast. He started pumping his fingers faster and I just couldn't take it any more. A tightness had built up in my stomach, and in that moment I felt release. Bear in mind, it smelled awful, and his hand and a good portion of my bed were completely soaked.

I'm pretty sure I was panting kind of hard, but I forced myself to remember that he probably has some needs too, and I didn't want him feeling left out.

He crawled up to where I was, and I scooted over to make room for him next to me. My shoulder was pressed against the cool metal of the washing machine and it helped me to keep my goal in mind.

He kissed me, sweetly, slowly; when I looked into his eyes, I could tell that there was quite a bit of energy still in him. I smiled, and placed a hand on his chest. I trailed my fingertips down to the top of his boxers, slipping them off of the hardened member that was keeping them tight. He helped by kicking them off to lie somewhere on the floor with the rest of our clothes.

I wasn't entirely sure how to proceed, but I started at the base, and squeezed gently with two fingers, then took a slightly firmer grip and began to work my way up and down the length.

"Jules, go faster," he half gasped and half snapped.

"Well, well, aren't we snippy today," I smiled as I kissed him and picked up the pace. With time, my wrist got tired and my fingers weren't gripping as well, so my pinky may have slipped and grazed something hairy. He jerked to the side and exploded all over my bed.

I was so happy I hadn't put the sheets back on yet.

Jerome turned back to face me, relaxed now, and he pressed his lips to mine. I snuggled in to his chest and he wrapped his warm arms around me, then, I guess, I must've fallen asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a strange feeling I had the next morning – waking up on a soiled mattress, completely naked under a thoughtfully placed towel/blanket substitute, alone. I suppose it was silly of me to think that he would have stayed; he _did_ have to be in his dorm in the morning or else people would start to suspect. I wrapped the towel around me for warmth as I gathered all of my clothes, strewn about the floor from the previous night. I think it was still fairly early – I didn't hear much in the way of movement – and I had a desperate need to shower, so I gathered toiletries and some fairly clean clothes before heading upstairs to the girl's restroom.

While waiting for the water to heat up, I wrote the words "Get Out" on the dry mirror with my finger – a friend of mine had shown me this trick. Sure enough, after I had showered and the mirror had fogged up, my words appeared as though written by a ghost. Awesome.

So, now I was clean, more or less, and, on my way back downstairs to my laundry room, I noticed that the sun was rising outside. People should be getting up within the next few hours and I was looking forward to meeting them. I mean, I was going to have to spend quite a bit of time with them, so I was excited to see what kind of people they were. However, no one was up yet, so I set to work on the stains in my cot while I waited.

The scream came when the stain was gone and the cot almost dry. A satisfied smile slipped onto my face, and I knew Patricia had been the first to shower. There was a bit of a ruckus upstairs and I guessed that Patricia was sharing her story of the ghostly visitor. It seemed strange that she would only be mentioning it now, after her scream last night, but there was always the chance that she had written it off as a dream. The scream also awakened the boys and I heard doors down the hall opening.

I eased my door open and stuck my head out to see tufts of blonde hair protruding from the back of the head that was peeking out of the door down the hall. He was looking away from me, and I deliberated retreating before he could see me, but he turned and he spotted me and he smiled. I love it when he smiles.

I smiled back and he stepped out of his room, followed by another fairly tall, gangly kid who I guessed to be Alfie – based mostly on what Jerome had told me of the house's inhabitants and what I had heard yesterday afternoon. I joined the pair as they and two other boys went upstairs to see what all the hubbub was about. Sure enough, everyone was crowded around the mirror, staring in silence that was broken only by the occasional whimper.

"Fuck," I whispered loud enough for the whole congregation to hear me, "that's some deep shit."

Everyone turned around and just sort of stared at me – except Jerome, who was beaming (it's totally different). Patricia looked like she was about to die, so I thought it best to introduce myself.

"Oh, um, hi," I started, feeling a bit awkward with everyone's eyes on me, "I'm Jules. New. I got here late last night. So, is this place haunted?"

Patricia was freaking out – stuttering, tuttering, muttering, the whole deal. She raised a shaky hand to point at me, gargling something about 'she' and 'it' and lots of other pronouns, I'm sure. Jerome slapped her hand playfully.

"Now, now, Patricia, it's rude to point," he admonished. I couldn't help but smile. "Anyone hungry," he added, as he began ushering the lot of us back downstairs so that I might make an attempt at getting to know my fellows over a meal.


	6. Chapter 6

Sitting at the breakfast table, I allowed my eyes to slide from one new friend to the next – they seemed like a fairly likable sort of folk and I decided then that this was going to be an enjoyable school year.

Jerome had been kind enough to sit next to me, and he had also been kind enough to not send me looks of any sort that might tip off my fellow housemates that we had already been introduced. Perhaps kind isn't the right word. I mean, a little recognition would have been fine – I am_ pretty_ sure I rocked his world – and it didn't have to be something dramatic, but maybe a smile and some eye contact.

Breakfast consisted predominantly of Alfie's impromptu background story regarding the house's ghost and its vendetta against Patricia, and there were a few questions about why I'd come and what my parents did and all that sort of thing (I answered only that they were archaeologists, and that I'd come after the history teacher from my last school had insulted my dad's work – pretty brilliant for an on-the-spot excuse, I thought).

As we neared the end of our meal, Trudy came downstairs to let us know that Patricia was feeling ill and would be staying in from classes. I have to say that I felt a little bad and a lot powerful at the same time – none of my pranks had ever had lasting, psychological effects before.

Jerome and I were towards the back of the pack as we headed out the door, and he placed his hand on my arm and pulled me from the crowd. I tried to remind myself that I was a tad peeved and I shouldn't be smiling, but it didn't do any good. We were in the entryway and my back was to the wall with his arms on either side of me, suspending his body just inches from mine.

"The mirror thing was kind of brilliant, by the way," he whispered into my ear.

"Well, thank you. I thought so too." I turned to rejoin the others but he didn't move his arm. I looked back at him quickly, planning to duck beneath, but something about his face made me stop. He seemed sad – his eyes had gone all wide and sparkly. But, that was only for a moment; a haze came over them and the sparkles turned to glares – I think that means he's upset now.

"I'm sorry," I began softly, not wanting Trudy or, god forbid, Patricia, to overhear, "I never meant to hurt you – It was the heat of the moment, and I'm sorry."

He sighed and looked into my eyes – I tried to make them sincere – and I noticed that his gaze had hardened, but in what seemed to be determination rather than anger. He slid his arms back to his sides and resigned to walking with me to class – not the most pleasant of walks, but it picked up when I decided to refer to his so called 'expertise' regarding our next plan of attack.

We agreed that, now I had been revealed, we couldn't do the ghost thing again, but that was fine with me, because honestly, who wants to do the same thing twice? His idea involved selling protection from the ghost – cheap amulets, blessed copies of the Ghostbusters movies, that sort of thing. I was against it; it just seemed wrong to be getting monetary gain from pranks – it distracted from the pure ecstasy of the scare. I told him such, and he was quiet for the rest of the walk. At first I think it was because he was disappointed, but towards the end, I told myself that he was just deep in thought about how to really wow me.


	7. Chapter 7

The first day of classes was going well – Joy had taken a liking to me, and inadvertently aided the plan by trying to convince Patricia via text that I was totally normal, thus throwing suspicion off of me (even if the 'ghost' was strikingly similar in appearance).

About half-way through French class, Sweetie came in and pulled me out. His eyes were red and puffy and he told me to go back to the house because there was a phone call for me. I asked if he was okay, but was met with only sharp nods, sniffs, and multiple reminders to "hurry along."

I came through the door to Anubis House and was met by Trudy, who was also puffy and sniffly. I felt my brow furrowing and Trudy pointed to the phone before wiping an eye and informing me that my mother had called for me.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

"Oh, Julia," sniff "it's your father."

"What's he done?" He had a tendency to get in trouble with the Egyptian government when trying to smuggle artifacts back for the British Museum.

"He stayed at the site late last Saturday," sniff, "and he – he went into the new pyramid we'd uncovered, and - " she couldn't control herself any longer. This is bad. This is very bad.

"Mom," I kept my voice soft, trying not to give her any reason to think I was anxious or upset or weak. "Mom, what's happened?"

"We found him yesterday," this is very bad, "he got locked in a room, and," she was crying again, "and…"

"Mom, please tell me what's happened to him."

"The room filled with sand, and he didn't get out."

My Dad always used to tuck me in too tight – he said that he wanted to make sure I was secure – but now if felt like I was being constricted by blankets made of lead.

"Mom, I'm sorry." What else could I say in this situation?

"Me too."

It was quiet for a long time except for her breathing.

"I'm coming home on Friday – there'll be a funeral, and then I'm going to take that teaching job at Oxford; we'll live a quiet life, and you'll be able to live at home and go to school, and we'll be okay."

"Okay Mom." She needs me – she needs us to be a family. I guess I'm just glad this happened so early on in the year so I didn't have time to get close to too many people.

"I love you Julia."

"I love you too Mom."


	8. Chapter 8

I passed Trudy on the way to my room. She knew. She wrapped her arms around me, and sobbed into my shirt. I didn't really know what to do with my arms, so I tried hugging back, but I felt sort of awkward. I told her that I would be okay, and asked that she not tell any of the students about what had happened. Hell, if Jerome found out, he'd probably do something stupid like try to console me. I don't want that happening if I have to be gone by Friday.

Trudy rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and nodded, allowing me passage into my laundry.

I closed the door behind me as I entered, and lay down on my bed. I tried not to think about it, but images of my Dad just kept creeping in. The last time I saw him he was just the same: happy, smiling, pathetically dorky in his excitement for this dig. The cab had just dropped them off at the airport before it was to carry me here. I got out to help them fetch their luggage from the roof – we hugged, said goodbye, but it was just like any other time they'd left to go on dig.

I thought about when I was small and he used to make me watch _Indiana Jones_ in hopes that I would grow up to be like him and like Mom.

I thought about when I used to pretend to sleep when Mom tucked me in, then he would come and we would eat ice cream and read me Sherlock Holmes stories.

I must've sat there thinking for a long time because I remember a knock on my door and looking at my phone to see that it was late. I didn't respond to the knock, but he came in anyway, closing the door softly behind him. I sat up, shifting my legs to hang over the side of the cot so he could sit next to me. I guess I looked worse than I thought.

"Jules, it's late and no one's seen you since this afternoon and Trudy won't tell me what's happened or where you were or why you were where you were and then I come in and I find you like this and…" sometime in the course of this speech, he had sat down next to me and cupped my face with one of his hands and followed one of the sticky trails on my cheek with his thumb.

I may have made some attempt at speech, but I'm not entirely sure because I don't remember being able to say anything. I do remember that his lips were soft when they kissed my eyelids and my cheeks and nose and my jaw and my chin and not my lips.

I'm not sure why, but I started crying – like really bawling – not something that's ever happened to me before; I'm not the weepy type. He sort of pulled me into his lap and he wrapped his arms around me and he held on and kissed away any new tears until my body stopped shaking. It must've been hours (but I'm not the best judge of time) before I finally started to breathe normally again. I sniffed and raised my hands to wipe my eyes, and I tried to laugh at how silly I was being – crying on the lap of some boy I'd only known for a week.

His eyes were all big and sparkly again, almost a look of genuine concern – it might've made it past almost, but I have a rule to be wary of emotions when in a boy's lap.

"My, uh – " I began, looking him straight in the face and taking a deep breath, "my dad's died."

I didn't totally understand the look he gave me – there was lots of surprise, some confusion, and an overwhelming amount of what largely resembled sympathy, or sadness at my sadness, or maybe love.


	9. Chapter 9

I stretched my neck, trying to move my face closer to his, trying to move my lips closer to his. He didn't kiss me back. I retracted my head and stared at my knees. His arms were still around me and I was still in his lap and I was not going to move. He held me tighter and put his chin on my shoulder.

"Jules, you've just lost your father," he whispered, "I don't – I don't want to take advantage of you."

"Jerome," I think I might've been crying again and there was a stinging in my chest that made it hard to breathe, "I've just lost my father. I need to be comforted." I shifted my weight more directly over his crotch. Suspicions confirmed.

"Jules," he admonished, "stop. This isn't healthy." He gently guided my legs back to where they had started, and scooted down the cot so that we weren't even touching now. I didn't like that – I felt cold without his body to warm me.

"Jerome, I'm leaving on Friday."

"What?" He leaned in closer towards me, "Why?"

"My Mom's flying back for the funeral, then she's going to start teaching full time and she's taking me to live with her at Oxford."

He was silent for a long time.

He looked up at me and I tried to tell him that I would miss him, that I cared and that I wanted him to be happy – but mostly that I could make him happy, right now. Unfortunately, I found myself incapable of actually saying any of this, so I had to hope that my eyes conveyed my message.

He seemed to understand.

He scooted back towards me and he kissed me – he was soft and he was kind and he was perfect. I started to slide my pants off, but he stopped me, trying to slow things down. He stopped kissing.

"Are you sure?" he looked at me seriously with his big, sparkly eyes. "sure, sure?"

I nodded and kissed him, and he was stronger this time.

I started to slide my pants off and he didn't stop me – my underwear was with the pants as I pushed them off the bed. He gently and slowly pulled my shirt off, then his as he leaned us back on the cot. He stopped kissing me again.

"Just, give me one minute," he smiled reassuringly and turned away, pulling something out of his wallet and removing the rest of his clothing so as to apply it. That was a relief – I hadn't been thinking straight; how could I've forgotten the huge risk of teen pregnancy? Not fun.

He turned back around and kissed me again, leaning over me just enough that I could feel the heat from his body but wasn't touching his skin. He pulled back and looked into my eyes, questioning. I nodded and he eased himself into me. It was a strange sensation at first, not particularly bad, just strange, but then it was sharp and stinging and burning. He must've seen the pain in my face because he froze – every movement, every muscle just stopped and he waited until I opened my eyes again. That didn't happen for quite some time – I'd reckon not more than a few minutes, though. I had sort of gotten used to the pain, I guess, when I opened my eyes and he began slowly to move in and out of me. It still hurt, but with time the pain mixed with some pleasure and everything was okay. The tightness worked its way back into my stomach and the pleasure started to win. We came at about the same time, Jerome collapsing at my side, holding me in his arms and kissing me; and I kissed him back.


	10. Chapter 10

Jerome had "the flu" for the rest of the week. He didn't make a big deal when my mom came to pick me up on Friday. He'd promised that he would try to come visit on weekends and that he would be texting me regularly, so I had best brace myself.

Everything was going to be okay.

*Author's note*

Hi there Internet! Finally finished my first story, so I suppose that's exciting. Also, I realized while I was writing this that perhaps Julia (Jules is a nickname, if that was confusing), has something to do with why Patricia is such a bitch to Nina when she first comes. So, um, yeah.


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